


Everything

by fayth (zanarkand)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Established Relationship, Fear of Thunderstorms, Gift Fic, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Sleepy Cuddles, brotherhood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanarkand/pseuds/fayth
Summary: Noct's day starts off with a nightmare, and only goes downhill from there. When it finally culminates in him falling apart on his bathroom floor during a storm, Ignis is there to pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 50
Kudos: 230





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueMoonDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoonDragon/gifts).



> for alyssa, who asked for (among other things) "soft words.... like the painful things iggy says... also like soft cuddles and noct burrowing into ignis's chest and iggy curls around him and holds him like hes his entire world while noct cries into him and feels safe and iggy runs his hands through his hair and noct falls asleep to the scent and warmth of ignis and 😭"
> 
> it may not be exactly how you had in mind (grey skies levels of angst it ain't), but hopefully it will still satisfy some of your need for soft ignocts. and thank you again. you know why ;D
> 
> for everyone else, this fic is finished. it was originally intended to be a one-shot, but then got a little long, so I split it in half. the second part will be up tomorrow! also, I would like to note that Ignis' behaviour in the beginning of this is intentional. that's all I'll say on that.

The thick, metallic smell of blood is still lingering in Noct's nose when he wakes with a gasp, eyes flying open, wide and startled as he looks unseeing around him. It takes several minutes for the rapid beating of his heart to settle as his gaze gradually focuses on the surroundings of his bedroom, the realisation that he'd had a nightmare slowly drifting into his mind and chasing away the fear there.

He lets out a tired breath, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Dreams of the Marilith aren't anything new; he's been dealing with them since he first woke from his coma. But though they've come less frequently over the eleven years since the attack, the intensity of them has never faded, and every time he wakes from one he feels the horror of that night as fresh as if it just happened. 

There's a candle on the small round table next to his bed, along with a lighter, and he leans over and catches the flame to the wick, letting the light scent of lavender carry away the sickeningly sweet metallic odour that's still clinging to his nostrils, so heavy he can taste it. Then he feels around under his pillow, drawing out the little Carbuncle totem after a moment, clutching it tightly in his fist, taking comfort from it. He's never quite been sure if that adventure with the little blue fox had been real or just a fantastical fever dream, but either way thinking of his guardian friend calms him, relieving the worst of his nightmare-induced distress so that he can get through his day without the upset mood overwhelming him. 

A few minutes later, the obnoxious noise that is his new phone's default ringtone suddenly shatters the peaceful quiet of the morning, and Noct groans, reluctantly letting go of the Carbuncle totem to grab it and answer. It's Ignis, of course, because today is a day where he has to be advisor before boyfriend. "I'm awake, I'm up," he mumbles into the phone, though a yawn halfway through somewhat belies those words. 

"Are you? You sound rather not awake still to me," Ignis says, and there's a hint of accusation to his tone, rather than the teasing Noct might get on a normal day. He's already stressed. Great. 

"I might have just woken up," he admits, hoping that his boyfriend will decide there's not enough time for a lecture. He'd reminded Noct several times yesterday to be sure and set an alarm to wake him up with plenty of time this morning, and yet he'd still failed to do so. 

Ignis sighs, but thankfully does skip the lecture. "I'll be round in an hour to pick you up. _Please_ be ready and waiting for me, Noct." 

"I will," he promises, and then blows out the flame on the candle before sliding out of bed, heading to the bathroom to take a quick shower, ignoring the twinges of pain in the knee that had never quite recovered from the Marilith's attack. He'd had a hard training session yesterday, and it's still a bit stiff and sore, but nothing the shower won't take care of. 

His thoughts stray as he grabs a towel, annoyance flaring when he thinks about the day he has looming before him. The Royal Museum of Lucis is opening today with a new exhibit, displaying a collection of various treasures from the past kings and queens of Lucis. Stuff like fancy ball gowns, old jewelry, battle armour... even previous crowns, which Noct finds weird, because shouldn't they all use the same one? But Ignis had explained, with a patient but exasperated tone that says Noct should already know this, that some previous rulers with particularly picky tastes had commissioned new ones to be made specifically for them. Or any time a crown got stolen or damaged somehow, which happened more than a few times, a new one would have to be made. 

Whatever the reason, he's never been one much for history, so the exhibit holds no appeal for him. But it's a big deal to most of the citizens of Insomnia, as the majority of these treasures have been locked away in the Citadel for their entire lives. This is the first time in over one hundred years that it's going on display, which means his father is expected to be there to open the exhibit and give a grand speech and explain some of the history of the more prominent pieces and then stand around as a million reporters all clamour to take his picture and yell at him in hopes of personalised quotes. 

Which he understands, but what he _doesn't_ get is why he is also expected to be there. He has nothing to do with this exhibit and knows only bits and pieces of the history (to the eternal shame and consternation of both Ignis and his father, not to mention his childhood tutor and most of the Council), and he's not going to be making any speeches or answering any questions. He won't be doing anything except standing around and looking pretty for the pictures, and he dreads it. He doesn't like the attention or the crowds, and with his morning already off to a sour start, he can't imagine the upcoming obligation improving it. 

He hopes that the hot water of his shower will help soothe his annoyed mood, but any calm he manages is ruined when he stumbles getting out of the tub, banging his bad knee into the hard ceramic. "Fuck!" he swears as tears of pain prick at his eyes. He grits his teeth and finishes stepping out, drying himself quickly before lowering himself to the closed lid of the toilet, his knee throbbing in agony. 

"Fuck," he says again, more quietly this time, and takes a few deep breaths as he looks at it. It's already swelling, and he knows it's going to bruise later. He's just made his day that much harder. Letting out a sigh, he carefully eases himself back up, putting as little pressure on that leg as possible, and limps to the bedroom to get dressed. 

He pulls on the suit Ignis had gotten ready and hung in his closet days ago, making a face as he buttons the shirt. He's had to wear suits his whole life for various royal events, but he's never come to appreciate them the way Ignis has always sworn he will. They make him feel too grown-up and adult, like the king he's meant to be some day, and even if he's come to terms with it now, he still doesn't like the reminder that being king will mean his dad is gone. 

Draping his jacket over his arm once he's got his shirt and trousers on, he leaves his room and limps down the hall to the kitchen. He needs ice for his knee and something to shut up his growling stomach, and he doesn't have much time left for either before Ignis shows up. 

Breakfast first, he decides, when he gets to the kitchen and the clock on the oven tells him exactly how little time he has left. He tosses his jacket at the dining room table, and then pulls some eggs and leftover ham out of the fridge, deciding an omelette will be quick and easy enough. He's no cook still, but Ignis has somehow managed to teach him a few basic things that he can make without burning the apartment down, or ruining all the pans. 

He gets the eggs started, and then chops the ham up quickly, trying to ignore the growing pain in his knee. He can put ice on it as soon as he's sitting down and eating. He tosses the ham on top of the eggs, folding them over in half and leaving the omelette to finish cooking. He gets some orange juice out of the fridge, pouring himself a glass, but right when he's taking a sip out of it, he feels his knee trying to give out, making him stumble as he catches himself against the counter, dropping the glass and splashing juice all over his shirt. 

Noct groans as he leans heavily against the counter, staring down in disbelief at his stained shirt, already hearing the lecture Ignis is going to give him. Really, he knows better than to get dressed before eating. He should have put on boxers and an undershirt to eat, and _then_ gotten dressed. The pain's clouding his ability to think, and maybe his desire to have this day done and over with is too. 

The smell of burning eggs reminds him that his omelette's still in the skillet, cooking merrily away, and with a second groan he turns around, hobbling the couple steps to the stove to turn off the burner, careful to step around the broken glass and juice all over the floor—that will have to wait until later. He pokes at the omelette with the spatula, but it doesn't look too badly burnt, so he decides it's edible. It's not like he has time for anything else anyway. He slips it on a plate, and then grabs an ice pack out of the freezer, carrying both over to the table. Setting the ice against his knee, he holds it there as he eats fast, ignoring the burning cold sensation. 

Once he's done, he starts to leave both his plate and the ice pack at the table, but Ignis' voice echoes in his mind, chastising him for not cleaning up after himself, so he reluctantly carries his plate to the sink and rinses it, tossing the ice pack back into the freezer before he heads to his room to find a new dress shirt. He forces himself to walk normally down the hallway, even though the pain's still quite great. But he knows he can't show any hint of a limp at the museum today, not in front of the media, so he might as well get used to it now. 

Ignis shows up when he's in the middle of attempting to iron the third shirt, his attempt at the second one having ended with an iron-shaped mark down the middle of the back. "You're not ready," he says flatly. "Honestly, I don't know why I'm surprised by this." 

Noct frowns, setting the iron down, ignoring the sting of hurt he feels at the words. "It's not my fault," he grumbles. 

Ignis gives him a look of polite disbelief, arching one eyebrow elegantly. Noct _hates_ when he does that; it makes him feel like a small child caught out in an obvious lie. "No?" Ignis says. "So it was someone else who ignored all of my reminders to set an alarm and slept in late this morning?" 

Well, he can't really refute that. Maybe it's a little his fault. But if everything wasn't determined to go wrong this morning, he would have been ready still. Ignis will tell him he's making excuses, though, so he stays silent, lowering the iron to his shirt again. 

"And why are you ironing a shirt?" Ignis asks, his nose wrinkling in displeasure. "I already had one washed and pressed for you." 

Ugh. He tries not to hunch in on himself, feeling even smaller. "Spilled orange juice on it," he mumbles, keeping his gaze on the shirt as he smooths the iron over it. 

Ignis lets out a loud sigh, and Noct doesn't have to look to know that his boyfriend will be pinching at his nose beneath his glasses, trying to keep his calm. Ignis has remarkable patience, especially when it comes to him, but he knows that he's dropped the ball this morning—he's nineteen now, nearly an adult, and these are the kind of basic mistakes he should be long past. 

"Sorry," he mutters, finally daring to glance up. Ignis looks a little annoyed, but thankfully not truly angry with him, his face softening slightly at the apology. 

Shaking his head, Ignis steps away, towards the kitchen. "No matter. Judging by the smell of burnt eggs in the air, am I to assume you've not eaten?" 

"No, I ate. They weren't that bad." 

"Good. What— _Noct_. Please explain why is there broken glass and orange juice all over your floor." 

He winces at the exasperation that returns to Ignis' tone. "I dropped the glass when I spilled it." He doesn't want to mention his knee—it's his own stupidity that he hurt it, and he doesn't want his boyfriend to fret over it when he can't do anything for it right now. Over the counter painkillers aren't enough to ease the pain, and the prescription ones he has for the bad days—usually after an intense training session—leave him with side effects he'd rather not have to deal with in front of the media. He'd ran out of his salve yesterday, and there isn't enough time for Ignis to massage it and help him through his usual physical therapy exercises. 

"And you couldn't take three minutes to clean your mess?" Ignis asks, sharp irritation lining every word. He disappears behind the counter as he bends down to deal with the glass, but his scolding doesn't stop. "Honestly Noct, you're nearly twenty. You should be better at taking care of yourself at this point. I thought we were past such ridiculous irresponsibility by now." 

He bites at his lip as he abandons the iron again, deciding the shirt's good enough. The harsh lecture stings, more so because Ignis isn't normally so blunt. He's right, but he's usually much nicer in the way he says things. It makes Noct worry that perhaps Ignis is finally tired of him and all his shit. With as much as Noct's put him through the last four years since moving out of the Citadel, having to constantly clean up after him and take care of him and deal with him in all his moods and through the bouts of depression, he often feels like he's waiting for the day when his boyfriend finally decides enough is enough. 

He pulls the shirt from the ironing board, slipping it on and buttoning it quickly. Ignis straightens up as Noct moves towards the dining room table, giving him a disapproving look. "That shirt still has wrinkles." 

Trying to shove down the spark of annoyance that ignites—is there anything he isn't going to be critical about today?—he shrugs, reaching for his suit jacket. "There isn't enough time to do it properly." 

"We'll make time," Ignis snaps as he throws away the big pieces of glass he'd picked up. "Put it back on the ironing board and go finish getting the rest of you ready. And do your hair properly, don't simply run a brush through it once and declare it fine. We can't have you looking anything less than your best in front of the press. Astrals know I'd never hear the end of it from the Council." 

"Yeah, Astrals forbid I have a single hair out of place," Noct mutters, rolling his eyes. Despite the ice, his knee still hurts way too much, and it's making it harder to let Ignis' nagging roll off his back, his mood rapidly becoming grumpy as his fears that his boyfriend is fed up with him rise. The fact that Ignis is dating him should reassure him, but he's found that in the six months since starting this relationship, they've only gotten worse. He doesn't feel like he's good enough for Ignis, and soon enough Ignis is going to realise it too. 

"That attitude won't serve you well today, so you may as well lose it now." 

It's tempting to bite back with more snark, but he doesn't want to start an actual argument. The day is going to be trying enough without adding that into the mix. So instead he keeps his silence, and goes to do what Ignis says. 

* * *

There's already a huge crowd of people gathered when they pull up to the museum, and Noct swallows as he looks out the window at them all. The museum isn't set to officially open for another hour, but there's already a line forming at the doors, wrapping around the block, and he can see several reporters milling about the front plaza, snapping pictures occasionally. "There's no way this many people care about some ancient royal junk," he says, trying to ignore the sick fluttering that's started up in his stomach. 

Ignis glances at him through the rearview mirror, his face pinched tight in disapproving irritation that still hasn't faded. "This is a one in a lifetime chance to see a big piece of Insomnia's royal history," he says, reproval in his voice. "And I expect many people are here simply to listen to your father; His Majesty doesn't give too many speeches these days." 

"Yeah," he agrees, the fluttering in his stomach deepening. His dad's health is on a slow enough decline that he probably still has years left, but the toll the Wall has taken on him is obvious, and it's becoming more and more of an effort for him to leave the palace. Noct can't remember the last time he's given a public speech that wasn't simply televised from the Citadel. 

They go around to the back, parking and making their way to a side entrance usually intended only for employees. Despite that, there are still reporters gathered, and Noct ducks his head as Ignis pushes him through the small group, staying quiet as his boyfriend responds with "no comment" to the questions tossed their way. They're not even questions about the museum, or the exhibit—they're about his dad, and his health, and about how Noct plans to rule when he becomes king. 

It angers him. His dad's not shown any sign that he's dying, but already they're circling like vultures, waiting for him to keel over so they can get their piece before anyone else. They give no consideration to the fact that Noct's going to lose his father, that the very idea of it still makes his throat close up and choke him with grief, his chest pulling so tight he can't hardly breathe. No, to them it's simply a chance at getting a scoop, a chance at being the first person to announce to the rest of the world that the king is dying. 

He wonders sometimes if they even see him and his dad as human. 

His dad gives him a tired but genuine smile once they make it inside, and Noct feels his stomach clench even more at the sight of him. He can see the lines of pain etched into his dad's face, the faint grimace he gives every time he takes a step, leaning heavily against his cane. It makes him wonder how bad _he'll_ be in the future; his knee is already messed up, how much worse will having to maintain the Wall make it? 

"You look nice," his dad says quietly as he comes to stand beside him. 

He scratches at the side of his neck, feeling awkward. He's not used to sincere compliments from anyone other than Ignis. "You too," he finally mumbles, and feels his face go red as his dad gives a gentle chuckle. 

"I'm glad to have my son's approval." 

That little exchange turns out to be the only real chance they have to talk for the rest of the day, as they're soon whisked away and prepared for the photo op that's planned for later, and briefed by the museum staff on what they're meant to do. Noct's only instructions are to stand there and smile, and to hold up each specific artifact as his dad talks about it. Thankfully, most of the pieces are considered too delicate to handle modern camera flashes, so photography is forbidden during the presentation, with everyone being strictly checked beforehand, meaning he won't have to worry about pictures of him grinning like an idiot winding up online. 

Once the event actually starts, the day drags on, each minute ticking by far too slowly. There are so many people crammed into the room, making it sickeningly hot, and he feels uncomfortable with the amount of eyes on him. The nervous fluttering in his stomach hasn't gone away, and he can feel sweat trickling down his back, making his skin sticky. More than one person has clearly skipped out on deodorant, their sour stench wafting up to him and making him wish he could wrinkle his nose. 

And even though he's not moving around, just standing and putting weight on his aching knee is enough to aggravate it, making the pain grow worse the longer he stays on it, and he's worried that it's going to buckle and give out on him before this terrible day can end— _that_ certainly would wind up on the internet, pictures or not. He does his best not to seem like he's fidgeting, but he can't help shifting every so often, trying to redistribute his weight before he falls to the floor in an embarrassing heap. Unfortunately, all that does for him is earn him Ignis' ire, his boyfriend looking up at him from the back of the crowd and glaring at him. He mouths something once that Noct can't actually read, but is pretty sure means "stop moving!" 

Nearly two and a half hours later, his dad finally stops talking, and they're allowed to leave, the museum staff escorting them to the employee break room to freshen up before they're taken to the photo op. Noct sinks into the closest chair, gratefully taking the bottle of water that's handed to him, gulping down half of it in one go. He's got a headache from the bright lights, a dull pounding above his left eye that makes him feel vaguely sick. His knee's screaming, and he wishes now he'd taken his prescription meds for it, side effects be damned. It _hurts_ , and he wants nothing more than to go home and take a pill and curl up in bed with Ignis holding him until the pain abates enough for him to sleep. 

However, even if he could go home, he's not sure that Ignis would cuddle with him right now. Currently he's looming over him, arms folded across his chest as he frowns down at him, and Noct wonders what he did to make Ignis be irate with him for this long. Surely he isn't still salty over his morning mishaps. "Be thankful this event wasn't being broadcast or recorded, because your behaviour was more like that of a small child," Ignis says. "Is it so hard to stand still for a couple of hours?" 

Noct gives him an incredulous look, his own forgotten irritation rising once more. "Are you serious, Specs? I'm not a robot, I can't stand in the same spot for two hours. And I didn't move that much. Lay off, would you? Pull the stick out of your ass and chill out." 

" _Boys_ ," his dad says, his tone sharp and reprimanding, and it works to chastise them sufficiently, both of them going red as they fall quiet, Ignis murmuring a soft apology to his dad. 

Noct finishes off his water, and then they're being dragged off again, this time to be mercilessly photographed by the media. The bright lights and the constant flashes of cameras make Noct's head worse, the pain sharpening until he can hardly focus on anything else, save for the still present pain in his knee and the growing nausea in his belly. He can't let on, though, so he keeps smiling and does his best to hold back the scream to be left alone that he wants to let loose. He should have known from the moment he woke up from a nightmare that this day was going to royally suck—and it's too bad Ignis is mad at him, because he'd probably appreciate that bit of wordplay. 

An hour later, that's done too, but he's still not free to go—the museum has catered lunch from Rei's Chicken as thanks, and even though he's not sure that lunch from a fried chicken place is classy enough to be all that important, it still seems rude to skip out. Ignis would probably murder him for it, if nothing else. He takes the smallest piece of chicken he can find and nibbles on it, his stomach too upset to eat properly, and makes polite, pointless conversation with the museum staff that approach him. 

It's only another hour, but it feels like ages before he's finally climbing into the car to go home, dodging yet more reporters hoping to catch a last picture. He leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes, trying to silently will all his pain away. He's still thinking about curling up with Ignis, and he wants to speak up and apologise, but he can sense his boyfriend's irritation with him hasn't completely faded, so he stays quiet, not sure it would be well-received. 

Ignis doesn't get out of the car when they arrive at his building, so Noct goes up to his apartment alone, his heart heavy. Apparently he really _has_ gotten on Ignis' last nerve today. He lets himself in tiredly, stumbling through the doorway. He slips off his shoes, and that's when his knee finally gives out, the pain flaring as he crumples gracelessly to the floor of his entryway. 

He grabs at it, grinding his teeth together as he breathes through the pain, allowing himself a single whimper since no one's around to hear it. He wants to go to the kitchen and get his medication and then collapse on the couch for the rest of the night, but right now he's not sure he could even tolerate crawling. Instead, he tries massaging his fingers into the skin, around the kneecap, feeling how swollen it still is. It's definitely bruised, too, his flesh sore when he presses into it. 

His phone chimes with a message a few minutes later, and he reluctantly lets go of his knee to wrestle it from his trouser pocket, checking the screen. It's Prompto. _hey u back yet? when can u meet me? u didnt forget did u lol._

"Shit," Noct swears, groaning. He _did_ forget. He'd been busy on Prompto's birthday a few weeks ago and couldn't spend the day with him, so he'd promised to hang out with him today instead, the first day they both had free together—or at least he'd thought so at the time, not realising he'd be required at the stupid museum opening, and especially not so early. Who wants to be at a museum at nine in the morning? 

He'd almost cancelled and rescheduled when he'd found out, but he'd already felt bad for missing his best friend's actual birthday, and couldn't bring himself to do so, just letting Prompto know that it might be later in the afternoon instead. Now he wishes he had cancelled. He still could, he knows Prompto would understand, but he also knows he'd be crushed, and Noct doesn't want to hurt him like that. They've had so much less time to hang out now that they're graduated and Prompto's working two jobs full-time to save for art school and Noct's royal duties and training have increased. 

_Yeah I'm back. Forty minutes? The park in Midtown?_ he sends. He's wary about going out alone when there are almost certainly still reporters and paparazzi prowling around, out for blood, but when he's in casual clothes without a bevy of Crownsguard surrounding him, he blends in a lot more easily. There have been surprisingly few pictures of him circulating throughout the general public over the last several years, and thanks to puberty a lot of citizens don't have an exact idea of what he looks like now. 

_sounds good! see u soon!_

He sighs, sliding his phone back in his pocket before beginning the painful process of getting to his feet on a knee that doesn't want to cooperate. He lets out a slow breath once he's standing, all his weight on his good leg, and carefully limps down the hall to the kitchen. He stays only long enough to down a couple of over the counter painkillers. They'll barely take the edge off, but if he's going out in public without Gladio or another Crownsguard to protect him, he doesn't want any side effects keeping him from being at his best. That his knee is already keeping him from being at his best is a fact he ignores. 

Limping back down the hallway, he rounds the corner and ducks into his bedroom to change, opting for jeans and a t-shirt with a baggy hoodie he can hide some of his face in. He winces when he pulls his trousers off, catching sight of how dark his knee already is, and how swollen still. He probably _should_ cancel with Prompto, or at least have him come hang out at the apartment, but his best friend had been so excited to have the chance to wander the city and take pictures. Noct will feel like an ass denying him that. 

Just a couple of hours, he decides, pulling on his jeans, having to tug hard to get the stiff fabric up over his knee. He can survive that long. A couple of hours, and then he'll talk Prompto into coming back here, or sitting in a diner or somewhere for the rest of their time together. 

* * *

A couple hours, Noct realises as he follows his friend, was definitely too optimistic. He's only been walking around with Prompto for half an hour, and he can barely think straight. Despite the pills, the headache he's had all morning hasn't let up, and his knee somehow feels _worse_. He's been trying not to limp, not wanting to worry his best friend, but he doesn't know how much longer he can keep that up. He feels like he's going to collapse again at any moment. 

"Ooh, Noct, stop, I gotta get this shot!" Prompto cries, running over to a large tree with bright red leaves, and Noct waves him on, sighing in relief and sinking down onto a nearby bench. It's probably a mistake, because he won't want to get back up, but he can't take another step. 

"Make it a good one," he calls out, and gets an 'ok' sign in acknowledgement. 

"You okay?" Prompto asks a few minutes later when he wanders back over, taking a seat beside him. "You've been so quiet, even for you." 

"Yeah, sorry," he says, guilt bubbling up within him. "Just tired. Had to be at the museum at nine." 

Prompto lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching at his chest. "Nine?! Say it isn't so, buddy! Nine 'o clock, that's the worst!" he wails, moving his hand to rest the back of it against his forehead. "What were they thinking? Everyone knows the prince isn't actually human until at least noon!" 

"Shove off," Noct grumbles, pushing at his shoulder. He's smiling though, his best friend's antics lightening his mood a little. 

That is, until the person loitering nearby looks up, whipping out a camera from underneath his jacket faster than Noct can blink. "Prince Noctis?" he says, and Noct winces as the flash goes off in his face. "I thought it was you. A few questions, if you don't mind. There's a rumour that His Majesty isn't expected to last the year. Can you confirm or deny this? How do you feel about this rumour? What do you intend your first action to be once you take the throne?" 

"No comment," he answers, trying to keep his voice cool and steady, but the questions make him as angry as they had this morning. He gets to his feet, praying to the Six that his knee will hold, and begins walking rapidly away from the park, Prompto right behind him, keeping space between him and the jerk with no respect. 

"Do you feel ready to take the throne, Prince Noctis? You're younger than his current Majesty was when he ascended, are you capable of handling all that responsibility at such an age?" 

He tosses another "No comment" over his shoulder, speeding up his steps, but the asshole is persistent, dogging them across the park and down the sidewalk for a few blocks, continuing to throw insensitive questions at him despite the lack of answers, and finally Noct abandons all attempts at a calm and polite escape as he starts running, ignoring the fire in his knee as he heads for a small alleyway between two buildings, ducking into it, following it out to the other side. He runs past a few more buildings before abruptly skidding and turning into one, which turns out to be a pet store. 

He grabs a basket just so he won't be hassled by employees, and immediately makes for the far end of the store, heading to the back corner next to the restrooms. Prompto's still right behind him, but thankfully the guy is gone. "Shit, sorry," he says between gasps of breath, slumping heavily against the wall. 

"Nah, it's my bad," Prompto says, his tone guilty. "I shouldn't have used—well, you know. And I should have noticed him. I'm sorry, dude." 

Noct shakes his head. "Not your fault, Prompto. I did see him, but I didn't see a camera, so I assumed he was fine. I know better than that." 

Prompto stays quiet for several moments, catching his breath, and then finally says, "Well, he's probably gone now, if you wanna leave. Wanna go somewhere else?" 

Letting out a sigh, he rubs at his eyes, wishing the pain in his head would go away. "Would you mind if I called Gladio and got him to take us back to my place? We can play games, order a pizza. I don't think I can deal with more reporters today. Sorry," he adds, feeling bad. But it's not just the reporter—his knee is shot now, and if he doesn't get off it soon he knows he won't make it home under his own power. 

"Of course! That's cool with me," Prompto says, giving him a smile to show no hard feelings. 

"Thanks," he mumbles, yanking his phone from the hoodie's front pocket—stupid thing had been useless at protecting his anonymity. He brings up his messages with Gladio, typing out a quick text, hoping that his Shield is done with his mandatory guard shift out at the wall around the city—the reason he hadn't been at the museum with them this morning. _Prompto and I just got chased by an asshole reporter. Can you come pick us up?_

The response comes almost immediately. _Where are you at?_

_Midtown. Pet store called Bastet. In the back corner by the restrooms._

_Stay put. I'm nearby. I'll be there soon._

Relief washes over Noct. "He'll be here soon," he tells Prompto, and then slides down to the floor to sit, not caring how it looks. After a hesitant moment, Prompto settles down next to him, and they wait quietly for Gladio to arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first thing I did when I got episode ardyn and got to insomnia was run around for _hours_ and take pictures of all the signage around the city (seriously, I wound up with nearly 300 pics. and I only had a ps4, meaning I had to stop and upload them to facebook so I could empty the camera roll every so often. worth it though!). therefore, all the places mentioned in this fic are canon (well, they spelled museum as musium, but I chalked that up to engrish).
> 
> anyways, hope you enjoyed! leave a comment if you wish, or not. I just appreciate the read <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies if you're subscribed and got the notification for this chapter twice. I'm a dumbass :D

"Pizza's here."

"Finally," Noct grumbles as Gladio gets up to go downstairs and meet the delivery guy—not even delivery people can know exactly where the Crown Prince lives. "It was supposed to be here half an hour ago." 

"Let's just hope it's still warm!" Prompto says, setting down his game controller. 

"Yeah," he agrees, though truthfully, he doesn't really care that much. He's starving. They've been playing games for a few hours now, and the lunch he barely ate feels like it was a lifetime ago. Cold or hot, he just wants to sink his teeth into some greasy meat and cheese piled on top of thick dough. And maybe getting some food in his stomach will help settle the pain in his head, and the nausea that's been accompanying it. 

Gladio comes back in carrying two large boxes, which he sets down on the dining room table. "Alright, come get it," he says. 

"Bring me a slice?" Noct asks hopefully, but Gladio simply snorts. 

"You got two legs that can walk," he says, going to the kitchen and grabbing another beer out of the fridge. 

Noct makes a face. He really doesn't right now, but he's managed to keep that fact hidden from both his Shield and his best friend still. Gladio will get angry at him for letting it get so bad, and Prompto will feel guilty, and he's not in the mood for either of those reactions. "Prompto?" he asks, turning pleading eyes to his friend. 

Prompto rolls his eyes, but agrees, getting up and grabbing a couple of plates from the kitchen before he goes to the pizza boxes. He opens the top one, staring at it for a moment, and then closes it again, pulling out the box underneath and opening that one. Noct watches him in confusion, not sure what he's doing. Both of the pizzas they'd ordered had meat, so it doesn't matter which one he picks. "Uh, Noct, I don't think you'll want these pizzas," he says, closing the second box as well. 

Noct frowns. "Why not?" 

"They're both veggie..." 

"What? But we ordered meat!" he protests. "Prompto, I swear if you're messing with me..." 

"I'm not," Prompto says, shaking his head as Gladio comes over, opening the box to check for himself. 

"Nah, kid's right," Gladio tells him. "This is veggie. They must have mixed up the order." 

He sets his own controller down on the coffee table, a little more forcefully than he means to as his irritation spikes, the clunk of plastic against glass ringing loudly through the room. "Can't anything about this day go right?" he gripes, feeling the sudden urge to throw something. He's so ready for this stupid day to be over with. It feels like everything has conspired against him to make him as miserable as possible. 

Gladio shrugs. "We can send it back, but we'll have to wait at least another half hour for the correct order. Or you can just pick the veggies off and have cheese pizza." 

Noct crosses his arms, well aware that his lips are turning down into a childish pout, but not particularly caring. "I just won't eat." 

"Noct, come on..." Prompto starts, but gives a startled yelp as Gladio pulls one of the plates from his hands. 

"Your loss then." 

"Wow, some Shield you are, willing to let your charge starve to death." 

Gladio gives him another shrug. "Iggy's the one who made feeding you his job, not me. Besides, I gave you options. And you're capable of going in the kitchen and making yourself something else if you don't want the pizza." 

He doesn't respond to that, choosing instead the more mature option of sulking. He stays quiet as Prompto and Gladio eat while they resume the game, refusing to join in with them. This day _sucks_ , and he's done trying to cooperate with it. Now he only wants his friends to leave so he can wallow in his pain and misery alone until he falls asleep. 

They do leave not long after they're done eating, clearly sensing his tanked mood. They each take a pizza with them, since they know he won't eat them. Once they're gone he lays back on the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes. He needs to get up, to go take a bath and soak his knee, to take some meds and sleep through the hurt, but he's in so much pain that he's not sure he's willing to move yet. He can't be certain his knee won't throw him to the floor the second he tries to stand. Sitting on the couch for the past couple of hours has made it stiffen up. 

At least Prompto had felt guilty enough over the pizza to make him some cup noodles before he'd left, ignoring Gladio's grumbling about babying him the entire time, so he doesn't have the gnawing ache in his stomach to worry about, and the throbbing in his head isn't quite as sharp now. Still, it's not enough to improve his mood, or make all the things he needs to do seem less daunting. 

He wishes Ignis were here. Ignis would get him meds, and would draw him a bath and then help him up and let him lean on him as they made their way down the hall, and he'd do it without any judgement or lecturing... at least, he usually would. After today, Noct's not sure, and given the irritated mood his boyfriend had been in this morning, he doesn't think he wants to find out. Not when he's already feeling so terrible. 

Letting out a long sigh, he pulls himself back to a sitting position, bracing himself to stand. If he can get himself in a warm bath, that will help a lot. Not so much for the pain, but just to make him feel better in general. He gets to his feet cautiously, his knee bending dangerously as it tries to collapse, but he quickly takes the weight off it, keeping himself upright. 

It feels like a slow crawl to the bathroom, his knee giving an agonised throb of pain with every step despite the minimal weight on it, but he eventually makes it. He draws the shower curtain back, leaning over to turn the faucet on, but his knee decides that's too much, and sends him sprawling to the floor. His elbow hits the edge of the tub as he goes down, and he hisses out in pain, but it's nothing compared to the rest of his aches. 

"Fuck it," he mumbles, and doesn't bother trying to get up. 

Instead he dozes for awhile, more nightmares of the Marilith taunting him, having him flickering in and out consciousness, waking up gasping with the echo of screams in his head and the stench of blood in his nose, leaving him nauseated until he falls back asleep, only to wake up once more, repeating the cycle until at last he's sick of it. He sits up, testing his knee as he stretches it out in front of him and then draws his legs to his chest, but it's an effort to move it even that much without screaming, and he knows there's no way he's getting to his feet right now. 

He'd intended to stretch his leg back out, because that's slightly less painful, but it hurts too much to even manage that again, so instead he wraps his arms around his legs, resting his head against his good knee. He should probably suck it up and just call Ignis to come help him, but the words about being better about taking care of himself by now still ring in his ears, and he doesn't want to hear it a second time. This would most certainly apply, because Noct had _known_ he shouldn't have gone out with Prompto this afternoon, but he'd done it anyway. 

And even without that, Ignis is still right... he's nineteen years old and still has to rely on his boyfriend to be a properly functioning human being. He couldn't even get himself up and ready on time this morning, and that's something even a child can do. After all, how hard is it to set an alarm and then shower and dress and eat breakfast? Why is he not capable of that without screwing it all up? 

He doesn't know what Ignis sees in him. He'd been the one to confess his feelings, reluctantly, with terror pounding in his chest, not able to stand carrying them around anymore yet certain that Ignis would let him down gently, but instead Ignis had kissed him, and then spent the next half hour reassuring Noct that he genuinely had feelings for him, and wasn't acting out of any misplaced obligation. He'd been so sincere and heartfelt that Noct believes him, but he doesn't understand why. 

He doesn't feel like he's been carrying his weight in this relationship. He's _trying_ , but he feels like he always falls short. Despite his best efforts, Ignis still always has to clean up his messes and take care of him when he fails yet again to do it himself. He doesn't know what he gives Ignis, except maybe sex, and Ignis could get that from anyone. It's not like they can go on real dates, or be affectionate in public, or be open about their relationship in any way. Unless a miracle happens, it can't last forever—he's expected to marry one day, to produce an heir to carry on the line, and Ignis certainly can't be the person to do that for him. Even if he used a surrogate, the Council would never approve—they'd see it as bastard child, someone unfit to take the throne and command the Ring. 

Noct swallows, the sudden lump in his throat getting painfully stuck, and blinks back the few tears he feels. He doesn't want to cry. He doesn't like crying—it makes him feel weak, something small children do. Not nineteen year olds who will be adults next year, and probably king in a few more years after that. 

Thunder rumbles in the distance then, making him tense up. A storm's on its way... it's embarrassing, and makes him feel even more weak than crying, but he's afraid of storms. The day the Marilith had attacked their car, it had rained that afternoon, before they'd gone to the garden that night to catch fireflies. The storm had made him uneasy for no seeming reason, and he'd almost asked to stay home. If he had, he never would have been hurt. His nanny never would have been killed protecting him. 

But he had, and she had, and there had been the faint sound of more thunder rumbling far off as he'd lay there with the weight of her dead body pressed against him, his front soaked in both of their blood as his back sat flayed open and leaking, the burning pain of it as hot as the flames that had hit the car in front of theirs. 

He can't listen to thunder now without remembering that night, feeling and smelling and hearing everything he'd went through then. Storms scare him, leaving him always worried about what bad thing might follow in the wake of them, no matter how little that's actually happened. 

More thunder, and he feels himself start to tremble, his vision blurring some as tears build up, threatening to spill over. He lifts a hand to swipe at them, scrubbing them away before they can wet his cheeks. In the aftermath of the attack, he'd been too shocked to cry, and when he'd first woken from his coma to find that he couldn't walk, the Starscourge from the Marilith's claws infecting his spine, he'd been too depressed to cry—except at night, when he'd wake sobbing from nightmares, crying out for Ignis until someone woke him and brought him to Noct's room. 

He'd only been out of his coma a week before they'd gone to Tenebrae, for Luna's mom to draw the Starscourge from him, but every time he woke alone in the guest room of Fenestala Manor, he'd remember how comforting the feel of Ignis' arms around his had been, and would wish for them. But the first time he'd asked for Ignis once they'd returned to Insomnia, he'd been denied, his new nanny telling him that he was too big to cry, and that it was selfish of him to interrupt Ignis' sleep. 

She'd been fired eventually, Noct remembers. But the damage had been done. Even now, stuck trembling on his bathroom floor as the thunder grows closer, he's afraid to ask for Ignis. He doesn't want Ignis to think he's selfish. He's been selfish enough today already. His phone tells him it's only ten-thirty, which isn't really that late, but it's late enough for him to leave his boyfriend alone. He deserves something better than to have to take care of Noct all the time. 

The next clash of thunder is loud, sounding as if it's right in the room with him, and he jumps, jarring his knee, fresh pain erupting and making him cry out. He can't hold back the tears now, and he feels pathetic for them, but he's hurt and scared and this day has sucked and he just wants Ignis. He wants his boyfriend to hold him and soothe away his aches and fears and tell him that everything's going to be okay. 

Another clap of thunder, as loud as the last one, and that's when the rain breaks, a noisy downpour as the wind starts up a low howling. He knows if he was in the living room with all those windows, it would be lit up as bright as day from lightning. He bites on his lip as he listens to the rain, still shaking as thunder continues to rattle the room. After another particularly strong one, the overhead light flickers and then goes out, plunging him in darkness. At least he's not afraid of that. He wipes away more tears before grabbing his phone, thinking he'll at least message Ignis and see if he's awake, but then he hears the sound of the front door opening and shutting. 

He stays silent, more tears slipping down his cheeks as he listens to the footsteps head for his bedroom first, and then further down the hall towards the living room. There are only five people besides himself with full access to his apartment—his dad, Clarus, Cor, Gladio, and Ignis. The first three never stop by unannounced, and Gladio has no reason to come by again after being here earlier. That leaves only Ignis, but he's not certain why he'd come here now. Ignis knows he has a fear of storms, but Noct had annoyed him all morning and then never apologised. 

The footsteps come back, approaching the closed bathroom door and then hesitating outside them. "Noct?" Ignis' voice calls, quiet and uncertain. 

He removes his teeth from his lip, and then calls out "Yeah," hating the waver he hears in his voice. 

"Is everything alright?" Ignis asks him, still sounding unsure, and for some reason, that makes a single sob break loose, the sound loud even against the storm raging outside. Even when he's annoyed with him, Ignis still came to check on him, and Noct doesn't deserve that. "Noct, I'm coming in." The door opens, and then Ignis is there, dropping down to the floor beside him. It's too dark in the room to see his face clearly, but Noct can hear the worry in his tone when he asks, "Are you hurt? What's wrong?" 

He shakes his head, not so much in answer but to indicate that he doesn't want to talk yet. He's still crying, and he's afraid if he opens his mouth more sobs will come out. The first one was humiliating enough. He should be better than this. 

"Is there a particular reason you're on the bathroom floor?" Ignis asks, and he shrugs. "Is it the storm?" comes the next question. "I know they make you uneasy..." 

Noct snorts, daring to open his mouth to croak out, "I'm afraid of them like a baby, you mean." 

"There's no shame in having a fear of storms," Ignis says quietly. "Fears are rarely ever rational, and even when they are, they are not easy to control." 

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing, choosing instead to ask, "Why are you here?" 

"As I said, I know storms make you uneasy... that they dredge up unpleasant memories. I wanted to make sure you were alright." 

At that, the sobs he's been holding back finally burst free, a torrent of them flooding him and making it impossible for him to speak. He doesn't even know why he's crying so hard, except this whole day has been so terrible and frustrating and painful, pushing him past his limits of tolerance, and all he's wanted the entire time is for Ignis to hold him and reassure him, but he'd been so incompetent and Ignis had seemed so fed up with him... and yet here he is now anyway, putting aside his own feelings to make sure Noct is taken care of once again. 

A hand comes to rest on his back, the touch gentle, and after a brief moment Ignis begins to rub soothing circles, taking care not to twist the fabric of his t-shirt up as he does. It's calming, the weight and warmth of his hand comforting, and Noct settles down after a few minutes, his cries drying up. "Sorry," he mutters, feeling his face heat up. 

"Let's get you off this floor, shall we? I dare say your bed is far more comfortable." 

He lets out a sigh, trying not to shudder as more thunder echoes around them. "I don't know if I can move." His boyfriend stays quiet, waiting for an explanation, so he reluctantly admits, "My knee hurts." 

"How bad?" Ignis asks, immediately moving towards his knee, though he doesn't touch it yet. 

"Seven," he answers, referring to the pain scale he'd been taught when learning how to walk again. Seven is severe pain, enough to be distracting and limit his mobility and make it hard to sleep, but not yet intense enough to give him trouble talking or listening. 

"If you lean on me, can you make it to your room?" 

"Maybe." 

"Let's try. You'll feel better laying down on a soft bed, I'm sure." 

Noct nods, biting his lip once more as they begin the painful and slow process of getting him to his feet. He cries out only once, when the pain briefly intensifies as he straightens his knee to a standing position. Once he's on his feet and leaning against Ignis, he turns his head, burying his face in his boyfriend's shoulder, ragged breaths escaping him as he struggles not to completely soak Ignis' shirt with the tears of pain he can't keep back. Ignis lets him, standing quietly with an arm around his shoulders while he waits patiently for Noct to be ready to move. 

"Okay," he finally mutters a few minutes later. "Let's do this." 

It's even slower than his walk _to_ the bathroom, and a loud clap of thunder at one point has him jerking on instinct and then crying out at the pain, fingers clutching tightly at Ignis, but at last he's laying back on his bed, gritting his teeth against the agony in both his knee and his head. Ignis fumbles around on the table beside his bed for a moment, and then lights the candle, the flickering flame dancing across his face and highlighting the clear worry in it. "Let's get your jeans off and look at it." 

He nods again, undoing the button and then the zipper, lifting his hips as Ignis helps slide them down, but when they reach his knee they find the fabric's too tight to pull over it without causing him even more pain—his knee's swollen too much. "Cut them off," he finally gasps out. 

"Very well," Ignis murmurs. "I'll be right back." 

He watches as Ignis leaves the room, and then lays there quietly, trying to breathe through the pain. He can feel tears still rolling down his cheeks occasionally, and at this point he's not even sure whether it's from the physical or emotional hurt. He's still trembling too, the sounds of the storm not abating in the least, and now he also has to contend with flashes of lightning brightening up his room every minute, putting him even more on edge. They remind him of the flashes of his dad's Armiger, the swords gleaming brightly in the moonlight and the light of the flames as he'd fought the Marilith. It shouldn't be such a scary memory, his dad protecting him, but all he can recall is the fear that had consumed him as he'd watched, terrified that his dad wouldn't be the one emerging victorious. 

Ignis comes back in, a handful of things in his arm. He sets them down on the desk, and there's the flicker of the lighter as he lights more candles. He comes back over to the bed after that, a pair of scissors in hand, and begins to carefully cut the fabric of Noct's jeans, until finally his knee is free. Even in the paltry light of the candles, Noct knows the dark bruising will be visible. He braces himself, waiting for the lecture, but all Ignis says is, "When did you hurt it?" 

"Uh... it was still sore from training yesterday. And then I hit it on the tub getting out of the shower this morning." 

"And you were standing and walking on it normally all morning during the museum exhibition?" 

He sighs. "And later when I went out with Prompto. Had to run from some asshole reporter too." 

Ignis lets out a 'tsk' noise, though unlike this morning, he doesn't sound angry. "That certainly would have done it no favours. We'll ice it for now. That swelling needs to come down before I can do anything else for it." He grabs an ice pack from the desk, and Noct sees with relief that he's gotten the big one that has the straps, so he doesn't have to hold it against his knee for an hour like an idiot. 

They get it strapped around him, and even with a washcloth to buffer the chill it makes him shiver, but already it's working to soothe a bit of the ache in his knee, so he's not going to complain. Ignis hands him a couple of pills and a bottle of water, and Noct can tell from the size of the pills that they're his prescription ones. He swallows them down with a large swig of water, and then closes his eyes, glad his tears have finally stopped. If only the storm would go away, his night would seem a lot better. 

Ignis lays down next to him, settling on his side to fit better on the small bed, and even though it'll hurt his knee some, Noct rolls over onto his side as well, pressing his back into the wall and grabbing at Ignis' shirt, pulling him closer as he hides his face in it. His boyfriend shuffles over willingly, curling an arm over him, letting the other one slide under his shoulder and wrap up over his back. Noct melts into the embrace, some of his fear being chased away with the sense of safety he feels by being held in Ignis' arms. "Why didn't you call me before you wound up on the bathroom floor?" 

Noct breathes in, the soothing scent of Ignis' cologne mixing with the lavender from the candle beside him and helping him relax. "You were mad at me," he says into Ignis' shirt. 

He feels his boyfriend's arms tighten around him slightly. "My apologies," Ignis says. "I... The Council lectured me yesterday yet again on making things too easy for you, and then Gladio gave me another earful last night. They both feel I baby you too much and that I'm not adequately preparing you to be king, even though His Majesty himself has no complaints. I let their words get to me and took it out on you. I should not have done that." 

He starts crying again, not loud or strong, but gods it's annoying. Pain always seems to make his emotions come out easier, and he hates it, because he never knows what to do with them, or how to make sense of them half the time. He always feels so awkward and silly talking about them. He has to be king someday, he won't have time to constantly sort out his feelings like that. 

"What's wrong?" Ignis asks him quietly. 

"I dunno," Noct says. He sniffles, belatedly remembering it's Ignis' shirt he's just made gross with his tears and snot. Oh well. It's not the first time. "Just... you were right." 

"About what?" 

He curls his fingers harder into the soft fabric he's been clutching. "Me. I should be better." 

"Noct..." Ignis sounds sad, his voice full of regret. "I was not right. You do perfectly fine taking care of yourself most days. I've seen the effort you've put into improving over the last couple of years, and despite my words this morning, I truly have no complaints about most of it." 

"Most?" 

Ignis reaches his arm up, beginning to gently run his fingers through Noct's hair. "I admit it would be nice if you could remember to set your alarms more often, but I consider that a work in progress. It would not typically be enough to make me upset with you, were the Council not breathing down my neck. You at least woke up before I called, so I can't protest much." 

"It was a nightmare," he admits, burrowing further into Ignis' chest, his words becoming slightly muffled. "That's what woke me." 

Ignis doesn't respond to that right away, his hand continuing to pet Noct's hair. It's soft and comforting, lessening his tears some. "It seems that I only added to an already bad morning," he says eventually. 

"The whole day royally sucked," Noct says. "Being royalty sucks sometimes." 

"It's not easy, no, but you're doing an admirable job navigating the burdens of your position." 

"Doesn't feel like it." 

"You a—" 

"No," he interrupts, fresh tears soaking his cheeks as he wonders yet again what Ignis sees in him. Gods, he feels so pathetic. Ignis can't possibly enjoy a boyfriend that's crying all over him like a child about _being_ a child. "You're the one doing all the work. I just follow along blindly with whatever you tell me." 

Ignis sighs, his breath tickling Noct's hair, making him shudder. "I'm your advisor. I'm meant to guide you." 

He swallows, trying to make the sudden lump in his throat go away. "You're also my boyfriend." 

"...Are you worried that you're a burden to me? Because I assure you, Noct, you are not. You could never be a burden to me," Ignis says fiercely. " _Never_. No matter what. I'm happy to help, whether as your advisor or your boyfriend." 

"You do _everything_. What do I do for you? I—" 

"You make me feel loved," Ignis says, the soft words cutting off the self-loathing insecurity Noct had been about to sob. "My world would feel far more lonely and empty without you; you make my life better simply by virtue of being in it. I feel as if I'm at my best whenever I'm with you. I don't need more than that." 

"But—" 

"You _are_ my world, Noct. I do the things I do for you because I love you, not because I feel obligated, or because it's my duty. I could lose my position as advisor tomorrow and I would still be right by your side to support you and help you with whatever you required." 

"Ignis, gods—" The words wash over him, overwhelming him. He's never heard Ignis be so candid about his feelings before, not like that, not with _that_ word. They've never said 'I love you' to each other, neither before or after dating, and he's never been sure they would. It's felt too much of a raw and open expression of their feelings to use, even though he's already known for a large portion of his life that he loves Ignis in every sense of the word. "Ignis, I..." He wants to say it back, to let his boyfriend know just how much he means to _him_ , but the words get stuck in his throat. 

Ignis lets his hand drop from his head down to his back again, sliding it under his t-shirt to begin trailing fingers softly up and down his skin, careful as always of the raised scars there. "You needn't say it back, if you're not ready. But please believe me when I say, you are not a burden. And I am deeply sorry for the way I treated you this morning. You did nothing wrong." 

"I thought you were sick of me," Noct admits, swallowing again, his throat still feeling thick. 

"I'll never be sick of you," Ignis reassures him, his voice rough and uneven, his tone low, as if he's close to tears himself, although Noct knows he almost never cries. "Noct, I need you in my life as my everything far more than you'll ever need me as your advisor." 

"Ignis..." Fuck, why is he _still_ crying? It doesn't feel so bad now though, he has to admit. He'll probably still need reassurance in the future from time to time, but Ignis' words have lightened his heart enough to not worry about it so much right now. Ignis loves him, Ignis _needs_ him, and that has to mean something. 

"The storm's stopped." 

Noct realises, as he blinks and raises his head, that Ignis is right. There's no sound of rain pelting hard against his window, and the terrifying booms of thunder have disappeared. The only light in the room is from the candles, the lightning having gone with the rest of the storm. He'd felt so safe in Ignis' arms that he'd stopped paying attention to the storm. "Yeah," he agrees, letting his head drop back down. He lays quietly in Ignis' arms as his tears slowly dry up and Ignis continues to rub his back, relaxing him and making him sleepy. 

"How's your knee?" 

"Mm, better," he mumbles, blinking open eyes he hadn't realised he'd closed. "Down to a four. Ice and meds helped..." His head's stopped throbbing too, and for the first time all day he feels content, all his aggravations washed away as he finally gets to cuddle with his boyfriend. 

Ignis moves his arms away, sitting up, and Noct lets out a quiet noise of protest before he can stop it, his cheeks warming slightly. "Shh, it's alright. I'm only going to blow out the candles and remove your ice pack. I'm not going anywhere." 

"Oh." He watches as Ignis unstraps the ice pack, carrying it over to the desk to set it down before blowing out the candles there. He comes back to the bed, and helps carefully shuffle Noct under the blankets before climbing back in with him, blowing out the last candle. He lays on his back, and Noct scoots as close to him as he can get, mindful of his knee, turning on his side and letting his head rest on Ignis' chest as he flings an arm over his stomach. 

In return, Ignis wraps his arm around his shoulder, letting his hand come to rest against his waist below his shirt, where he begins idly skimming his fingers along the skin. Noct feels a shiver run down his spine at the light touch, and curls his fingers into Ignis' shirt. "Sleepy," he murmurs. 

Ignis presses a soft kiss to the top of his head. "Sleep then. There's nothing on your schedule for tomorrow, so you can sleep in and let your knee recover." 

Noct closes his eyes, breathing out slowly. "Don't wanna have more nightmares." 

"If you do, I'll be right here to wake you from them," Ignis promises, and he nods, falling silent, basking in the warmth and comfort of his boyfriend until at last he drifts into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> noct and ignis then spend the next week utterly mortified that they'd been so open with their feels and barely talk to each other. lol. but then they get over it, because they love each other.
> 
> thanks for the kudos and comments on the first part, I appreciate the love! I hope this was a satisfying wrap-up, and alyssa, I hope it was soft enough for you ;D please feel free to let me know what you think! thanks so much!


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